


heart on his sleeve

by duckiesandlemons



Category: Kamen Rider W (Double)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Nightmares, Platonic Cuddling, Sickfic, emeto warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 08:38:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13947876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckiesandlemons/pseuds/duckiesandlemons
Summary: Illness pries even the ugliest of truths from people.  Shoutarou is no exception.





	heart on his sleeve

**Author's Note:**

> Commission fic for bestboy_ryuji on twitter!!

The tissue hits the rim of the trashcan, falling pathetically over the edge to join the rest of its kin on the floor.  It’s crumpled and snot ridden--poor form, no wonder it couldn’t make it, much like himself, Shoutarou thinks bitterly as he sniffles.  His entire body feels like lead, and his throat has been scratchy and his nose clogged with what feels like several wads of cotton.

He reaches for another tissue and blows.

Hard.

The resulting noise makes Akiko jump from where she’s balancing their ledger, pen clattering on the table.  “Geeze, Shoutarou, are you getting sick?” she asks, face in her usual exaggerated scowl. “I thought idiots don’t get sick?”

Shoutarou sneezes again, “ _ Ha, ha, ha  _ Akiko--no, it’s probably allergies or something, I’m good.”

He doesn’t  _ feel  _ very good, though, but he can’t just stop for the day.  The people of Fuuto need help, and what help the cops don’t give, Shoutarou’s going to do it in their place.  Besides, cops can’t quite deal with what Shoutarou deals with.

Another sneeze, one that manages to lure Philip out from the lab.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.  “I keep hearing sneezes--Akiko, is that you?”

Shoutarou would have laughed at the face Akiko pulls, is actually trying except he sneezes again and it devolves into a pitiful coughing fit that has him shaking in his seat.  “What do you think my sneezes sound like, mine are cute and dainty as a proper lady’s should be!” Akiko huffs. “It’s Shoutarou--he says it’s allergies.”

Though the tone of her voice is saying that she doesn’t believe him for even a second.  The appraising look that Philip follows it up with just further drives home the fact that they don’t believe his little white lie.  

Shoutarou sniffles, “Totally fine--definitely allergies.  Look, to prove your point I’m going to go out right now!”

He grabs the top case file (a missing pet, a cat by the name of Ruffles), opening it up to snatch the picture from it and marching right on out.

“Good luck!” Akiko calls out.

Shoutarou tries to give a wave as he leaves, only for it to be ruined when he reaches the doorway and sneezes again.  Whatever dramatic effect he wanted as he made his escape is effectively ruined, lost to the absolute crud or whatever it is that’s currently making its home in his head.

“I should follow him,” Akiko says as the door shuts behind Shoutarou, “just in case.”

Philip agrees.

********

Ruffles is a large white cat, fur wispy and curled in a way that when Misumi, the client, saw it she immediately knew what to name it--and that name was Ruffles.  Shoutarou wishes that Misumi had slightly better naming sense, because he could only go so long asking if anyone had seen Ruffles only to be handed a bag of American brand potato chips even after showing them the picture of the cat.

Guess they didn’t really believe the Ruffles things.

So now he’s out in the chill of Fuuto, head pounding and voice going hoarse as he yells out for Ruffles.  He has to step every few steps or so to catch his breath, and at some points he starts coughing. The people passing him by are giving him concerned looks, but Shoutarou brushes it all off.  He’s promised Misumi he’d find her cat, and find Ruffles he will.

“ _ Ruffles! _ ” his voices cracks on the “u”.  “ _ Ruffles!  Misumi-san is looking for you! _ ”

When he’s greeted with absolute silence, not even a peep of a meow, Shoutarou knows what he needs to do next.  He can only be thankful there’s not that many people around. Solemnly raising up a fist, he opens his mouth and--

“Oh, you’re lookin’ for Misumi’s pet cat?” the voice catches him off guard.  “Ruffles, right?”

Shoutarou almost cries because someone knew-- _ someone finally knew _ \--except he ends up coughing instead.

“Y-yeah,” he rasps, turning to face this newcomer, “it’s--”

“White, right?  With curled fur?”

Shoutarou stops, dead in his tracks, as he takes in the sight of a dopant casually holding Ruffles in one arm.  Its clawed hand rests on its hip, a cord tail flicking back and forth lazily. “You know, I wanted t’ get revenge on Misumi for ditchin’ me, knew about her cat, but I think I wanna play around just a bit more,” the dopant says.  “What the dealer gave me is  _ so  _ much fun,  _ right!? _ ”

Shoutarou flails, diving out of the way of a sudden lightning burst that has him rolling across the ground.  It does absolutely nothing for his head and a wave of nausea hits him, vision starting to swim and the pounding getting more insistent.  He reaches for his driver, joker memory already in hand, but the dopant just clicks their tongue.

“Don’t think so, I was told about you--”

Another lightning burst sends Shoutarou staggering backwards.  The only thing that’s worse than running into a dopant is running into a dopant that knows what to do to keep Shoutarou from transforming.  He tries to roll out of the way of another attack, but his body is too sluggish and it screams at him in refusal. The next hit has Shoutarou yelling, driver and memory falling out of his hands.

“W-w-wait!” Akiko’s voice comes filtering in from somewhere--he can’t pinpoint where, his vision is blurring and everything’s become muted.  The dopant says something as well and after a minute he can taste the familiar smell of Accel’s smoke on his tongue.

_ Wonderful _ , he thinks,  _ useless again _ .

His vision goes blissfully black--only to come to again what feels like minutes later to see the familiar ceiling of the agency.  The covers of his bed are tucked up to his chin, and he’s been changed into his pajamas. A wet rag is resting on his head and he can smell the beginnings of porridge.

“Oh, he’s up!” Akiko’s voice is softer than usual.  Her feet shuffle across the floor of the agency, hands gentle as she picks the rag up to ring it.  “Geeze, idiots aren’t supposed to catch colds.”

There’s none of the usual bite to it but the words still needle at Shoutarou’s heart. They’re tiny little pin pricks that ache, pushing and pushing at already sore wounds he thought had just healed over.  He hopes the laugh he gives--bitter and broken--can be excused by his fever and rough voice.

“Yeah,” Shoutarou rasps, “guess it goes to show I’m not that dumb.”

The look Akiko gives him is a weird one.  If she has issue with whatever he’s said she doesn’t show it, just coaxes him to sit up as Terui walks over to place a tray with a simple bowl of porridge and a glass of water on his lap.

“Hidari, don’t worry about Ruffles, I’ll find him,” the cop says--it’s a rare moment of kindness.  “Just focus on getting better.”

Shoutarou stares at the porridge, but doesn’t feel too hungry.  

“What about the dopant?” he asks instead.

“Ran away when I appeared, but the cat had fled at some point during the fight--don’t worry about it just get well.”

Terui’s voice holds no room for an argument.  Shoutarou heaves a sigh, sniffling, and picks up the spoon.  He hears Akiko say something about getting medicine for Shoutarou since they ran out of the “good stuff” the last round of illnesses, and Terui agrees to go with her just in case that dopant decides to come back.  Shoutarou takes one bite of his porridge, but tastes nothing but bitterness (it’s still good, because of course Terui Ryuu remains perfect at everything).

Two more bites in, the door to the lab slams open and Philip strides out with purpose, sparkles in his eyes.  There’s a book in his hand, open, and his cheeks are flush.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting sick, too?” Akiko whines.  

“Nonsense, I’m immune unlike Shoutarou,” Philip’s answer is immediate.  “But I have found some methods that are said to help with the common cold--Shoutarou, did you know green onions have a medicinal property if you--”

“Akiko,” Shoutarou’s voice is gravelly, from fear and from illness, “if you love me right now then please--”

“Yes, yes, wonderful, Philip!” Akiko yells, turning the confused teen around and pushing him forward.  “Why don’t  _ you  _ go with Terui to go get more medicine and I’ll take care of Shoutarou!”

“But they also say if you make a mixture of--”

“Bye!  Be safe!  Don’t run into any dopants!”

The door to the agency slams shut, Philip successfully deterred from using Shoutarou as a guinea pig for some of the wilder home remedies he’s most likely found in the Gaia Library.  Both Akiko and Shoutarou heave a sigh of relief.

“You done eating?” she gestures to the half-finished porridge.

“Yeah.”

Akiko picks the tray up, setting it aside on the table.  She looks like she wants to say something, her mouth opening and then closing.  He just watches as she does this a couple of more times, most likely going through every word she wants to say in her head before she just settles on:

“You should sleep.”

Shoutarou wants to know what she wanted to say.

“Yeah.”

Instead of asking and like the coward he is, too afraid of Akiko’s blunt honesty, he rolls over in bed and tries to sleep.

********

He gets better in what feels like a day, feeling a lot more refreshed when he gets up.  The morning light filtering through the agency causes a wonderful glow, and Shoutarou can only think about making a cup of coffee and settling in to work on his case reports until the next one comes in.  Akiko is sitting at the table, per her usual, and her pen is working furiously at their ledgers.

“Morning, Akiko, feeling pretty great today if I say so myself--can probably even take on a case or two if you catch my drift,” he makes the motions of straightening his tie, eyebrow cocking, but Akiko doesn’t even look up from her work.

“Mm, yeah, sure,” she says, dismissive.  “If you want to work there’s another missing pet case--though we don’t really do those anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Shoutarou asks, opening up his wardrobe so he can change.  “Every case a citizen brings we do.”

“I mean, we don’t really get them anymore since Terui’s working on high profile dopant cases,” Akiko’s pen clicks.  Her words fill Shoutarou’s veins with ice, and he has to give a nervous chuckle to try and swallow it all down.

“T-Terui?  He’s with the police, right?”

“No, not really,” Akiko snorts.  “Geeze, Shoutarou, we know you can be pretty useless sometimes but to forget all of that?”

_ Useless _ .

That knife in his gut he’s always been trying to ignore suddenly twists--sharp and hot and painful.  The word rings in his head, a horrible reminder of everything in his past, but Shoutarou sucks it up.  He has to.

“I wouldn’t consider myself useless, I am--”

“You’re not,” Philip’s voice echoes in the agency as he appears, book in hand and driver around his waist.  The Cyclone memory sits in it, like always, but there’s something else that tickles at Shoutarou’s brain. “You gave that up a long time ago, Shoutarou.  I couldn’t continue being partners with someone as soft as you.”

_ Soft. _

There’s nothing wrong with being  _ soft  _ he wants to say.  That one needs compassion to do what he does, and the willingness to listen, but  _ Shoutarou it always gets us in situations, and I cannot risk that. _

“Then what, is Terui your new partner?”

“Yes,” Terui walks out from behind Philip, the driver around his waist so familiar yet so foreign.  The Accel memory sticks out like a sore thumb, taunting Shoutarou in ways that he never thought possible.  It’s a sick joke, something horrible, and the laugh he forces out is bitter.

“What--this--why?”

It’s the only question he can really bring himself to ask.  Why? Why why why why  _ why _ ?

“It’s simple,” Philip tells him.  “You’re too soft, too naive, you let yourself be fooled by the simplest of traps--what use is a partner who is  _ half-boiled _ ?”

The words that Shoutarou’s so used to hearing in jest stab right through him.  The knife continues to twist, forcing pain through his nerves and causing his limbs to seize.  They’re poison, made from the darkest of his thoughts and fears.

He wants to retch.

“Are you not going to say anything, Shoutarou?” Akiko asks, all demure and innocent.  Her words are coated in sugar, as if to soothe the ache that pumps sludge through his heavy head.  

“What is there to say?” Terui asks.  “He knows it’s true.”

“It’s not true!” Shoutarou lashes out, hand slamming on the desk.  No one seems to flinch. They’re not even intimidated if the chuckle Akiko gives tells him anything.  

“How cute,” she purrs.  “He thinks he’s still tough.”

“Admit it, Shoutarou,” Philip says as he walks towards him.  “You’re not fit to be W.” He reaches out a hand--and all Shoutarou can see is claws, all he can smell is death--to latch on to him.  Philip intends to take--take everything Shoutarou is and the last promise he had made to Boss before--

“ _ Don’t touch me! _ ”

“ _ Woah! _ ”

Shoutarou lashes out, jolting awake with sweat dripping down his temples and heart hammering in his chest.  Akiko had fallen backwards, staring up at him with wide eyes. “Geeze, Shoutarou!” she hisses. “You were tossing and turning in your sleep and this is how you greet a person waking you up?”

“What do you mean--I’m fine, that’s--”  his head is still groggy, still cotton-stuffed, and his throat feels incredibly dry.  Shoutarou still feels nauseous from the dream, and he can feel the rush of bile before anything else.  His hand covers his mouth and Akiko panics.

“H-hold on, here--”

Shoutarou empties his stomach of the porridge into the trashcan Akiko holds up for him.

“Shoutarou...what did you dream about?” Akiko’s voice is worried.  She sets the trashcan aside, bringing her hand up to his forehead. Her brows furrow, “You’re hotter than before--what’s taking them so long to get medicine?”  She busies herself with replacing the rag on his forehead, her hands then moving to expertly tie the trash bag close so she can toss it outside. Shoutarou reaches for the water at his bed side, taking meager sips to see if he can keep it all down.

Satisfied that he can, he leans back in bed.  His eyes slip shut but he’s afraid to sleep. The dream comes back to haunt him, the words still swimming around in his mind.  They hurt--more than they should. Shoutarou wonders if it’s because he’s sick that these sort of things are affecting him more than they usually would.  He can shrug them off, roll with the joke until the sting passes.

Yet the fear still lingers.

Shoutarou isn’t fit to be Philip’s partner, isn’t fit to be W, and in a ways the dream is right.  He is not fit to be any hero, and the idea of the only thing that marks his self-worth being taken from him makes his stomach lurch again. 

He stubbornly drinks more water.

“Man, you’re pitiful,” Akiko says as she walks back in.  The door to the agency shuts quietly behind her. “What kind of detective are you?” she returns to her perch beside his bed, chin propped on her hands.

“A half-boiled one,” he answers bitterly.  He can’t help it. The wounds from his dream are still too fresh.

Akiko frowns, “...Shoutarou, is there something bothering you?”

He laughs.  It’s hoarse, raspy and gross.  It sounds like he’s trying to cough his stomach up again.  Is there something bothering him? Only so many things--his own uselessness, the fear of losing everything that made him, the agency, and so much more that just tumbles uselessly inside his just as useless body.

“Not at all,” and he keeps his lips sealed by taking another sip of water.

“You do,” Akiko leans forward, “why won’t you say it?”

“I don’t.”

He can’t show weakness.  He can’t show his own patheticness.  

Akiko doesn’t let up.  She glares at him, mouth twisting into a frown.  “Don’t do this while sick, Shoutarou,” she says. “Hiding things just isn’t you.”

“Then what is me?” his voice rises.  “What’s me, Akiko? What’s me past--”

He stops, sucking in a harsh breath.  She looks taken aback, as if she hadn’t though a little digging would lead to a sudden outburst.  Shoutarou tries to keep his cool but it’s too late. The dream has rattled him too much and Akiko’s questions are trying to dig too deep into things that he doesn’t want to talk about.

“What’s you past what?” Philip, this time, as he walks into the agency with a bag in his hand.

“Oh, Philip, where’s Terui--”

Akiko’s cut off by Philip’s purposeful strides.  The bag is handed to her wordlessly, and Philip’s eyes pin Shoutarou to the bed.  “What’s you past what, Shoutarou?” he asks again.

“Nothing.”

“If it’s nothing then you wouldn’t look ready to cry,” there it is.  Philip cuts clean through Shoutarou’s walls, pushing in deep in the way only he can.  They are partners after all, Shoutarou thinks. Of course he would pick up on it.

“I’m useless, right, an idiot who isn’t supposed to catch colds and too soft hearted, right?” the words tumble out of his mouth.  Each one feels like a glass shard, cutting at his tongue and throat, and it burns, burns,  _ burns _ .  Yet they keep coming, one by one.

“Half-boiled, easily tricked--nothing great about me.  How can I be W effectively like this--someone who can’t even do the right thing--”

Shoutarou’s words give way to hiccups and shuddering sobs.  His head pounds but the tears spill forth, dripping down his cheeks to his chin and on to his comforter.  Shoutarou tries to stymie them by biting down on his lip--they keep coming.

He’s stronger than this.

He’s not this pathetic.

He...he’s just...tired.

Akiko’s hug surprises him.  Her arms wrap tight around his shoulder--a firm band of support.  She’s sniffling as well, her face buried against his side. “I’m sorry,” she says.  “We didn’t know--you’re not useless, you know!” Her words are muffled by his shoulder, but the conviction is clear.  She doesn’t let go, not even when he tries to move to awkwardly return her hug. Throughout everything he’s said, Philip hasn’t said a single word.

Shoutarou’s anxiety spikes again.

“Shoutarou,” Philip sits on the edge of the bed, “if I thought you were useless I would have become Terui’s partner.”

Just like his dream.  Shoutarou’s breath hitches, and Akiko just squeezes harder in response.

“Philip,” she murmurs but Philip stops her from saying anything else.

“You may be easy to trick and wear your heart on your sleeve but I think that makes you inexplicably Shoutarou,” Philip says.

Shoutarou can only sit there dumbfounded by Philip’s words.  His flu addled brain tries to make sense of the words, though it’s only getting so far.  “Thanks?” Shoutarou croaks out instead. He at least  _ thinks  _ it’s a compliment.

Philip smirks, “Shoutarou, you should know by now that I mean that open honesty of yours is your greatest strength.”

_ Why else would I stay as your partner  _ remains unsaid.  It’s enough to make Shoutarou’s heart swell, and the tears start spilling faster for different reasons.  Akiko reaches out, grabbing Philip by his jacket and dragging him close. He protests for all of two seconds, only stopping when Shoutarou’s arm brings him in for a hug.  The three remain like that in the quiet of the agency, Shoutarou’s sniffling filling the silence in between.

He doesn’t want to let go.

In his own worry, in his own insecurity, he had forgotten the family he had found and their comfort eases all the pain from that stupid,  _ stupid  _ dream.  

“We’re sorry,” Akiko whispers again, “that we hurt you.”

“It’s fine,” he answers, even if it--just a little--isn’t.  “I’m just...haha, this isn’t cool to say, but I’m glad you all are here.”

Philip responds by pinching Shoutarou’s side, earning him a yelp.  The three laugh, Akiko slowly letting go so that she can get Shoutarou’s medicine.  “Where did Terui go?” she asks, rifling through the bag and pleased to see that Terui had the foresight to grab instant porridge as well.

“He got a call from the police station so he left after taking me back here,” Philip answers.  He hasn’t moved from his spot.

“I see,” she hums.  “Maybe he should have been here, too.  Just so we can get it  _ all  _ out!”

Shoutarou splutters, “No, absolutely not!”

He’s not letting Terui see him while he’s down like this.  Akiko only giggles, shuffling around their small kitchen as she heats up the porridge.  Shoutarou leans back in his bed, diligently taking the medicine Akiko had handed off to Philip so he could give it to Shoutarou.  “You really look different ill,” Philip comments. “Does everyone go through such a drastic change or...Shoutarou! You should pass me your--”

“Absolutely not,” Shoutarou answers.  

“Yeah, it’s not fun,” Akiko adds.  She comes back over with the porridge, and the three spend idle time talking as Shoutarou slowly eats.  When his spoon is put down, Akiko takes the tray from his lap and settles back at his side again. “Okay!” she declares.  “Let’s sleep!”

“Akiko, I’m not--” Shoutarou’s pushed back down, blanket pulled up to his chin.

“You had a bad dream, and the best way to deal with bad dreams is to be near loved ones,” Akiko nods her head, satisfied in her sound logic.  “Right, Philip?”

“Not really.”

“It’s decided!” Akiko makes herself comfortable, curling next to Shoutarou’s side and settling in to sleep.  Shoutarou gives Philip a despairing look except Philip just shrugs, settling down himself. Shoutarou sighs, knowing that he’s lost before he’s even put up a fight.  Closing his eyes, he lets himself drift off.

The dream that he has is different.  It’s of warm sunny days spent in the agency, Boss at his desk and laughing as Akiko tells him something.  Philip sits at the table reading, kicking his legs back and forth and chiming in to say something every now and then.  

And Shoutarou...Shoutarou stands there as well, laughing and praising Boss, grinning from ear to ear as they spend their days happily.

His heart aches with fondness, glad for once that he doesn’t dream of his uselessness, of the loss of his Boss.

********

“I told them to not ask me questions when they have a report to read over--it eats up too much time,” Terui grumbles as he fiddles with his key to the agency.  The closed sign stares back at him, but it doesn’t mean much when he’s already been given a copy ages ago by Akiko. The lock clicks open and Terui pushes the door open, relief at being away from the two cops he calls his subordinates.

Good people, good at their job when they wanted to be, but Terui is pretty sure that they act the way they do just to send him to an early grave--or the hospital.

“Sorry I had to leave you like that Philip, I hope--”

“Quiet,” Philip’s voice can barely be heard.  Terui frowns, stepping in further only to see Philip on the bed, a sleeping Shoutarou and Akiko cramming him close to the wall.  

“...really?” Terui raises an eyebrow.  “He’s not a kid.”

“Akiko’s idea--she truly has amazing ones,” Philip says.  “According to her, this helps chase away bad dreams.”

“Bad dreams?” Terui sits down at the table, leaning an elbow on its surface.  “Hidari? Do you mind telling me?”

“Don’t ask me questions,” Philip parrots, eyes sparkling with amusement at Terui’s frustrated expression.  “Akiko said being with loved ones helps ease bad dreams--I wouldn’t know, but Shoutarou needed it.”

Philip goes quiet.

“Does this mean--”

“They do,” Terui answers.  “They very much do.”

Philip smiles--pure and full of warmth.

**Author's Note:**

> "Wait, what happened to Ruffles?" Shoutarou asks the next day, more alert and not as sick. Everyone in the agency pauses, panic across their face.
> 
> "I'll be right back," Terui mumbles and thunders out the door, most likely to find Ruffles and beat up the dopant that had tried to kidnap the poor cat.


End file.
